


Breathing Helps

by thoschei



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Amnesia, Bank Robbery, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Poor Security Guards, Supervillain Master, Supervillains, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 21:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16900542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoschei/pseuds/thoschei
Summary: Ruling as a supervillain came with its perks and the Master certainly enjoyed them. He particularly enjoyed the look of pure dread in the eyes of a civilian as the Master drained the life out of their body. Drip, drip. How quaint and hopeless. The Master craved it.And then he didn't. He couldn't.





	Breathing Helps

A supervillain known as the Master had plagued the city for 5 years so when the screams of the people suddenly went silent the city rightfully applauded their hero, Jack Harkness. 

What they don't know is that Jack had nothing to do with it, the downfall of the Master that is. This particular failure was by the Master's own hands. 

He was attempting to rob a bank, a usual Saturday night for him, when this whole situation had arised. He had been threatening a security guard with his life, offering to spare him if he put down his gun. Of course, the Master would never spare him, where's the fun in that? 

And in his defence, this guard was never going to back down either. You see, the Master had read his mind. One of the many abilities he possessed actually. He tended to not use it though, a bit of a strain on the mind and honestly he needed to stay focused on outings like these. 

But the building was heavily armed and the Master really didn't want to get caught at this time. He’d miss a repeat of his favourite TV show if he had to break out of another prison, and he wouldn't let that happen again. He needed to take some precautions.

There were two guards by the door. One of which was still alive, while the other had had a finger shoved through his heart. Shame, he was the handsome one too. 

The Master would have taken them both out at once but the handsome guard had spotted him far too quickly, so the Master had to move quick. 

The living guard was moving quite erratically, swinging his gun from the Master to the guard bleeding out, and back to the Master again. It really was distracting.

"Did your mother never teach you to keep your sight on your enemy? Oh, suppose not. Mother was one of a kind."

He methodically moved his finger in circles, curving the insides of the handsome guard. He watched as the other guard turned, distracted by some pathetic screams. Really, this place needed better security than this.

A brick dislodged itself from the wall and whacked the guard across the head.

The Master winced. "Oh, I think I can see a bit of brain coming out there." Glee seeping into his tone.

The guard fell to the ground with a thump.

Telekinesis was a handy trait when used correctly. Of course the Master wasn’t one to use his abilities in the “correct” way. He liked to have fun with his powers. Save them for the perfect moment, a humiliating moment for his foe, and of course, a moment in which he could throw in a one-liner every now and then. 

Being a supervillain required a certain flare to your step and he wasn’t afraid to say, he had it. 

He glanced down at the guards. He was quite used to men bleeding out around him. It was actually quite the theme among his intimate relationships. Well, “intimate” in a fairly rough sense.

These men however meant less than nothing to him. He shoved them out of his path with a swift kick. Blood scattered the pavement. The Master sighed. The mess he had made.

He tiptoed his way in, peeking around the corner. He was almost sure the place had closed up three hours ago. If so, why were the lights on and why was there no security in sight? Did someone know he was coming and plan ahead?

It was impossible, the Master persisted. He had told no one of his whereabouts that night and yet, the lights remained on.

He stepped in. If he kept to his plan he might have still been able to pull this off. He hadn’t planned for no security though so it had thrown him off a bit. There were cameras of course, he wondered if the security team was watching from the other side of the lens, hiding in some room out of sight.

Deep breath in and out, he calmed himself and focused on scanning the room. Pale walls, lights that flickered, security that had been shut down for at least an hour and the awful feeling that he was indeed being watched. 

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” The Master whispered. He moved to the back room, past the empty desk where a panic button sat in case of emergencies - such as the one the Master was performing - which he suspected may still work, even with the security off. Once he reached his destination, the vault, the Master couldn’t help himself but grin.

The powerless were oh so easy to steal from.

He removed the vault door from its hinges and swung it behind him. He obviously had no need to do such a thing with the power off but this was part of the flare he was talking about.

He was almost having a grand bit of fun until of course as per usual, something interrupted it. A blaring noise came from all around him, he hadn’t spotted any speakers so he wasn’t quite sure where it was from. It had sounded like the scraping of chalkboard, only amplified a great deal. 

And then it stopped, just like that. That’s when the whisper came. “So,” Admittedly it was rather soft. “Had your fun now? I know I did, it’s always good to enjoy yourself.”

“Who is that? Who’s that voice?!” The Master spat. It was like the voice was surrounding him, no, it was almost as if it was inside his own head. The Master wasn’t schizophrenic, he had never had any mental issues in the past.

The Master didn’t hear a response. It was silent, that kind of silence that’s grating to the ears. The more you listened, the louder that silence got. The Master made his way out of the vault, slowly and aware. He couldn’t just walk out the front door of the bank, something told him it wouldn’t be that easy. So he sought out the only other thing he could think of.

The Master stretched his arm under the front desk, resting his finger over the panic button.

“Ah,” The voice again. “I wouldn’t touch that if I were you. I’ve never met a police officer who’s taken a liking to a bank robber before.”

“I just-”

“Apart from Officer George, lovely fellow. They’re married now, what an awkward wedding that was.” The voice chuckled.

“Could you shut up, please? I’m trying to figure this out.” 

“Oh now, that’s no way to speak to your kidnapper.”

“What a laugh.” The words spurted out of the Master, hand held to his forehead. “Bit drunk, are we? Or do you just not recognise me?”

The voice went silent again. A few moments passed and the Master revised his skepticism from earlier as he walked defiantly towards the exit.

“Two hundred and sixty five crimes committed in the last week alone, two hundred and sixty six if you count this.” The voice stated. “You ever pay for those crimes? Ever went to jail for those crimes, properly I mean, did your time? Well, consider this your payment and I’m sorry, I really am but it will hurt.”

The Master’s torso arched back, his limbs contorted in unusual and frantic ways. Something shot through his body like roots of a tree or a lightning bolt. His flesh and skin seemed to erode in front of him. His vision became blurred until it was nothing but the brightest red. 

The voice was a bare high pitched scream now and the Master was so afraid. Inside, it felt as if the voice was running past all his defenses, running towards his core, his mind. 

The Master tried to breathe but breathing at a time like this felt like child’s play, he did it anyway. In, out, in, out, he cycled through the basics until he started channelling it into his mind. The only way he could think to stop this invasion. The only thing he had left as his physical form seemed no more. His psychic abilities. 

He used them to build a wall of sorts in his mind, metaphorical brick by metaphorical brick. It seemed almost fruitless as the pain and unending noise grew, but he kept at it and when the voice seemed as if it had reached its breaking point, as if it could not possibly get louder, everything, to put it in simple terms, broke. 

That was the moment in which Harold Saxon picked himself up off the pavement next to the local bank and got on with his average life.


End file.
